December 1916

Here it is another Christmas. John is not able to come on leave this year, but he has sent us a card and suggests that I take money out of our account to buy nice presents for the girls from him. I shall also buy a present to send to Peter, perhaps another book.

We had a beautiful card from Peter, made by the inmates from the camp.

A Second Christmas

The war drags on and yet the sprig of Love
Stays green throughout the Winter
A star winks announcing peace
Throughout the Night

True Greetings from Knockaloe camp

He told us about the message they had from their Commandant, Colonel Panzera.

“I am sorry that the size of the camp prevents my seeing you all, which I should do if it were small, and thus possible. It would be a mockery to wish you a Happy Christmas, I am afraid, but I wish you as happy a one as is possible under the circumstances. I most earnestly wish you a happier New Year. May the New Year bring peace and restore you to all dear to you. I hope that prosperity and happiness may come to you in the future, and may in time obliterate the memory of the present period of sadness.

“I should like to take the opportunity of saving how much I appreciate the general good behaviour of the camps during the present year. There have been little lapses, as there must always be in a mixed community of 23,000 people, but on the whole the conduct has been extremely good, which has been a great help to those placed over you. Once more I wish you as good a Christmas as possible, and a better New Year.”

He says they will have a rather full meal with as similar contents as one would normally have for an English Christmas. But of course they will have different traditions in the part of Poland/Germany he comes from. I must remember to ask him about it.

He seems to be very busy now at camp. He takes various classes and is in charge of several activities. He seems pleased to be making sufficient money and has said I must not send him any more for the camp bank. In fact as soon as he has saved £10 he will send me back the money I put in for him earlier.

He has sent a small packet for Beth, and I know that it will be something homemade from the camp. He didn’t send anything for me which is fine, as I don’t really want reminding of the present that he gave me for my birthday when he was here. He didn’t mention my birthday at all this year, and I don’t know if he forgot, or remembered and purposely didn’t mention it.

For the past two years we have had a big remembrance party in Marple for the servicemen and we all put pictures of our men in the services in the windows of one of the shops. Everyone who is in the forces from this area will get a card and package from the village as well as whatever they get from their families. I feel very grateful that we live in such a close and loving community.

Miss Fanny Marion Hudson, the current owner of Brabyns Hall, each Christmas invites the locals to come to a Christmas party at the hall. Even though she now has turned her house into a convalescent home for wounded soldiers, she has still carried on with this tradition.

It was on the last Sunday, just before Christmas, and I took the girls with me. It was our first visit to Brabyns Hall, and we were all impressed by the grandeur of the place.

I decided that on this grand occasion we should all have new dresses. Little Beth has been very happy wearing Rebecca’s old clothes, but it is time she had something new of her own. I got a Butterick pattern and some lovely bright red and green plaid woolen material and made her a simple dress with a square white collar, pleating in both the bodice and in the skirt and a little white apron that goes on top, trimmed with lace. She loves it.

Rebecca has more sophisticated tastes, and I took her shopping in Stockport one Saturday. She bought a sailor outfit – but with a bit of difference The under dress is a simple black satin gown with tons of covered small buttons for decoration. The overtop is a textured black silk with white, clear and black beading in a floral pattern front, collar, cuffs. There is a “peek-a-boo” design of the over top with black satin piping and detailing. I wondered about such a young girl wearing black, but there is enough white in it to make it both smart and yet young looking.

I also wanted to look smart for our visit to Brabyns House, so I wore a suit that I have had for some time, but being well designed, it could never look out of fashion. It is a sheathe shape, with long pleated shiffon scarves that hang from the sleeveless armholes over the arms. It has chiffon pleating at the sides with lovely rosette decorations and roped pearl trim. Then there is a jacket with a classic high collar covered with matching rosettes and kimono sleeves. There is also a chiffon tie which also has the same rosettes. I expect I will be overdressed, but it makes me feel better to look my best.

So we set off on our exciting visit by walking down our road, through the village and then up Brabyns Brow. One goes down through a white wooden entrance gate, past the Brabyns Number 1 lodge, down a very long drive from just above the train station in Marple and the road descends gradually, crosses the railway on a bridge and curves around and ends up not very far from Station Road, but inside a huge walled area, with the house and gardens thus protected from the outside world.

We were told that the house was built in 1745 by Henry Brabin, a surgeon who practiced in Stockport. His estate passed down through his family until 1800 when it was sold to Nathaniel Wright a mining engineer who made his money by extracting coal in Poynton a village some 7 miles south of Marple. When he died his son John inherited and lived the life of a country gentleman at Brabys Hall until he in turn died in 1866 without direct heirs.

It was then passed to a cousin Ann, who was married to Thomas Hudson of Surrey. He however never lived in it but after he died, his widow, and their daughter Marie, and granddaughter Fanny moved in. I have heard that in its heyday the Hudsons had more servants than even at Marple Hall, which of course is owned by the Bradshaw - Isherwoods, and of course that reminds me of the death last year of Colonel Isherwood.

The Hudsons had St. Martin’s Church and hall built in their grounds, an Anglo-Catholic church – so they could worship as they had in Surrey.

We went through the front door, into a long hall. You could see that the billiard room was on the left and the dining room on the right. Then a bit farther on the right we went into the large drawing room where the party was being held, and the library next door also was full of guests. There are huge windows and we could see through them the very spacious and beautifully laid out gardens. We were offered a glass of mulled wine, (fruit juice for the children) and a mince pie, and we felt like very honoured guests.

Christmas day itself was very special even though we only had the three of us in the house. We cut a tree down from the stream behind the house and decorated it with red berries and popcorn – the bits that we managed not to eat. Popcorn is a treat that we all love, but can’t indulge in when John is at home as he so much dislikes the smell and taste of it that he banned it from the house. I had a huge supply sent me from the States before the war, and who knows when I will be able to get more, so I must use it frugally.

I played the organ for Mass on Christmas morning, and the girls both came with me. Then we had a large meal, roast chicken with all the trimmings and sang carols until we couldn’t think of any more. Then we went for a long walk up to Mellor Church and back round by the Primrose Mill and then settled down with board games for the rest of the day.

Peter’s present to Beth is a tiny hand crafted doll, dressed in native Polish costume. She is delighted.

From the money that John had told me to get out, I bought a fur muff for Rebecca, as she needs to keep warm for her daily trip into Manchester on the train. I bought myself a pair of pearl earrings, and wore them with my necklace that Peter had given me on my birthday that fateful day in the past. I sent John two books, Chicago Poems by Carl Sandburg and The Mysterious Stranger by Mark Twain. For Peter we bought Mountain Interval by Robert Frost and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce.